


Go Geek or Go Home

by Medie



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-09
Updated: 2010-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damn, he never thought he'd see the day Fruit of the Loom got him hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Geek or Go Home

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt: girl!McGee/Tony, he loved watching her go into geek mode. My thanks to [](http://mari4212.livejournal.com/profile)[**mari4212**](http://mari4212.livejournal.com/) and [](http://elanurel.livejournal.com/profile)[**elanurel**](http://elanurel.livejournal.com/) for their quite awesome betas

He loves watching her go geek. Seriously, there is no other term that accurately describes the sensation that comes over him when he gets to watch one Timothea Marie McGee (sometimes known as Thea, McGeek, McGoober, Mc-Murder-She-Wrote, and a plethora of other Mc- related aliases) get her geek on. It's quite possibly the closest that Tony's come to a religious experience in a very, very long time.

When she writes, she geeks out _hardcore_ and it's probably the hottest thing Tony's ever seen. McGee mutters to herself in snatches of dialogue and half-finished sentences that are just this side of gibberish. She claims it helps her talk through difficult scenes, getting her out of tight corners, and who knows, it probably does.

All Tony knows is he loves every second of it and he's no idiot. He knows when a girl talking to herself is _hot_, you're in trouble.

Nonna DiNozzo would be proud. He can see her now. Nonna would lean on her cane, her favorite shawl draped over her shoulders, and say, in her heaviest accent, "Finally, a _nice girl_, Anthony. Don't screw this one up, eh?" and then she'd probably hit him with her purse. Nothing drives a point home like Nonna's suitcase-sized purse knocking you into next year. Nonna always did like the dramatic touch.

Maybe he could distract her, get Thea to dazzle her with her cooking or something (Tony's sure Thea's missed her calling. Forget NCIS, there's a cookbook in that woman's future.) The way to Nonna's heart was always through her cannolis. One taste of Thea's and Nonna would start planning a good old-fashioned family wedding.

Scratch that, one taste and Nonna would start planning the grandchildren. Tony's had McGee's cannolis. They are _that_ good. No, seriously. Watching McGee geeking out is a religious experience, but her cooking isn't far behind it. The stuff great fantasies are made of and Tony's had more than a few of his own.

Fantasizing about McGee. Now there's something he'd never expected the day Probie'd walked in the front door.

He tilts his head, looking at her, eyes fixed on the screen, fingers flying across the keyboard. His Probie's just full of surprises.

"You're staring," says Thea, derailing his thoughts. When he blinks and really looks at her, she's watching him over her laptop, cheeks faintly red with a blush. God, he loves it when she blushes. Between the blushing and the geeking, Tony's a really happy guy most of the time.

And by happy, he means blissful.

"So?" asks Tony, grinning as her blush deepens. "I like looking at you." She's embarrassed by that. She can't see herself the way he sees her. She's pretty much the hottest thing _ever_ like this and she can't even see it. Which is a mystery, because God, she's hot. Like Angelina hot, only possibly better. No, not possibly, _definitely_ better. Brad can have Angie-edge-and-angles, Tony's got Thea. Thea who hums bad pop songs when she cooks, mutters story dialogue in bed, and keeps biting her lip when she's thinking even though it drives him _crazy_.

Tony's got a thing about her mouth. A mouth like Thea's is an invitation to everything the priests warned him about growing up. Which should be proof there's a God. Sweet, innocent, little Timothea McGee's got a mouth made for all sorts of sin and the best part about that?

Tony's got a standing invitation to introduce her to a few and ain't that a kick in the head?

He grins, slow and lazy, picturing himself closing the distance between them. She's on his couch, in his shirt and a pair of bobby socks. She's hiding out at his place, working on the latest chapter for her next book, and he's supposed to be staying out of the way.

That's really kind of not going so well. It never does and she should know that by now. She comes here to write, he plays nice for a while, but inevitably they get naked. Very naked and very active. Sure, it means more frantic typing, but the chapters always get done and they always get laid.

It is totally the best of both worlds.

She squirms, sliding one leg beneath the other, flashing him with a quick glimpse of granny panty. He swallows hard. Damn, he never thought he'd see the day Fruit of the Loom got him hot. Still, Victoria and all her finest secrets never got him as hard as fast as McGee and her granny panties.

He lets his grin widen, tipping his head to take a long, completely obvious, look at her. He's totally moving into smug bastard territory, something McGee confirms with a roll of her eyes and a sighed, "_Tony_."

Thea hates being stared at. It starts her fidgeting and that's never a bad thing. She squirms a little, one bare leg rubbing against the other. He watches one limb slide over the other, remembering how those limbs feel beneath his body and his hands.

He presses those hands against his legs, palms down, and tries to remember how to breathe. He doesn't want to rush this and he's close to doing that. If McGee ever realizes how easy it is to get him going, he's finished.

But nobody can blame him. He watches her shift again, legs stretching out on the couch, and _God_, he loves her legs. Almost as much as he loves her mouth. It's a crime against humanity that those legs get covered by bad suits and uglier skirts. Legs like that should be out there, bold as brass, letting the world weep with envy.

Except if they were on display 24-7, then the best kept secret NCIS has ever had wouldn't be so secret anymore.

McGeek's a babe. _His_ babe (Tony's never been good with sharing, there's no real reason to start practicing now) and, God, she'd smack him if she heard that. He knows she's been paying attention, Gibbs has taught her the slap well.

Thea's eyes narrow with suspicion and he gulps. She didn't, right? _Right_? She points at him over the laptop. Scratch the earlier, cookbooks are out, if McGee missed her calling then stern schoolmarm would do be it. He pictures that for a second, mind playing out the fantasy at warp speed, and his mouth goes dry.

_God_.

"Don't even think about it, Tony," Thea warns, still pointing at him. "Don't even try to think about it. You think about it and you are finished."

"Think about what, McGee?" He tries for innocent, hits somewhere in the general vicinity, and hopes she doesn't see right on through it.

She does. Dammit. She _always_ sees through it. Damn McGee and her human lie detecting ways. "I am thinking of nothing whatsoever." If you ignore the high-definition fantasies about those legs wrapped tight around his hips with lots and lots of nudity involved.

Yep. Thinking about absolutely nothing.

The McGee in his head moans, tightening around him, and he is _so_ not thinking about nothing.

Thea's eyes narrow further. God, she's hot when she's onto him. (Even hotter _on_ him, but that's growing increasingly unlikely.) "You're thinking about sex."

"Oh come on," complains Tony, "I'm _always_ thinking about sex." He waves a hand at her legs. "Besides, you're sitting there all playmate of the month and I'm supposed to ignore that?"

She nods. "Yes."

He makes a face. "That's just cruel, McGee."

She dimples. "I know." Dropping her eyes to the screen, Thea starts typing again. "No sex until I'm done. My publisher is screaming for the latest chapters."

Screaming. God. _Screaming_. Tony groans. "Write faster, Mc-Murder-She-Wrote, otherwise I am not responsible for my actions."

She snorts, but her fingers pick up the pace. Small mercies.

It hasn't escaped him just how insane this is. How insane _they_ are. They are not supposed to exist. She is not supposed to make him feel like this. Girls like Thea McGee and guys like Tony DiNozzo do not mix. Ever. There is probably a rule written down somewhere. Probably a bunch of rules and they're breaking every single one of them. Girls like Thea sit at home with loving, but ultimately boring, boyfriends while guys like Tony, well, they don't sit on the other side of the room while their girlfriends write mystery novels.

"You know," he points out, "if you really wanted me to behave, you wouldn't be wearing that."

She looks at him, fingers slowing, "No?"

"Nope." Tony gets up. He's never been good with following orders anyway. Just ask Gibbs. "You're supposed to be wearing ratty old sweat pants, the oldest sweatshirt you've got, and possibly have not washed your hair in three days."

She wrinkles her nose. "That is disgusting."

And yet, the truly humiliating part is it probably wouldn't bother him in the least. He'd think she's just as hot as she is now. Part of him is astonished by that. Tony doesn't really care.

Thea scoots backward on the couch, edging away from him. "_Tony_."

"Yeahhhh?"

McGee points at the laptop. "Chapters."

He closes the lid with a firm click. She makes a little strangled noise of protest, bouncing upward in her seat. "I know. You'll finish in time, but," he grins again, sliding the computer to the floor, "your books need more sex. I'm pretty sure you're totally stalled out on at least one or two. You need research. Hands on research."

She frowns, but she's fighting a grin, he can see it in the tilt of her lips. "I should, hmm? Hands on?"

Tony leans over her, guiding her backward onto the sofa. "Oh absolutely. Research in these matters is key. You ever see a porn movie, _Timothea_?" he asks. Her full name has McGee shuddering dramatically and he grins, continuing, "there's no away any of those directors have actually ever had sex."

"And you don't want that to happen to me?" She tugs at his t-shirt, letting the fabric slip through her fingers. There's a grin curling her lip and Tony can't help but kiss the soft edge of it. Her mouth feels as good as it looks. Warm, lush, and tempting.

"No more than it already has," says Tony. "Let's face it, McGee, you totally need to get laid." She hits him for that one and he laughs, rocking down into her. They both groan and he drops his face to hide against her neck. "You're killing me here."

"Funny thing," she sighs, her breath feathering against his ear, "I just shot you in the book."

He nuzzles into her skin, the lingering scent of her perfume teasing, pressing kisses as he goes. "I'm gonna make it though, right?"

"Mm, maybe." She squirms away from him. McGee's ticklish. Very. He grins and runs his fingers over her side. She yelps, hitting at him. "Tony!"

Laughing, he nips at her ear. "You can't kill me, Thea. You'd miss this." He sucks on her earlobe, tugging, then goes back to her neck while his hand starts working on shirt buttons. Flicking two open, he slides a hand beneath the fabric, tracing the soft curve of her belly. She hums and arches into the touch, her fingers playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck. "I'm totally your muse."

"You're my distraction," she says on a breath. "I should be working."

"I told you," he rises up, looking down at her, "hands on research."

"Tell my publisher that one," Thea retorts. "I don't think she'd agree with you."

"She will," Tony teases, kissing her. She parts her lips beneath his, eagerly welcoming the slide of his tongue over hers. He can taste salt and chocolate, the remnants of her snack, but beneath it is the welcoming taste of her. He curls his hands around hers, fingers lacing together over her head as the kiss deepens and, fuck, he could do this forever.

He pushes a leg between hers, nudging it against the heat of her, and she rewards him with a moan, low in her throat. The sound runs through him like lightning, chasing heat along every nerve ending and he can't stop moving against her. She responds in kind, pushing up into him and the kiss without any hesitation. That surprised him in the beginning. Here, like this, there's nothing shy about her. She's not afraid to ask for what she wants, like she knows he's more than happy to give it to her.

Tony breaks the kiss, breathing hard, and looks at her. She grins back, lips red and shiny, tempting him back for more. He tries to say something, but then she rolls her hips against him, rubbing against his cock, and he can't. He lets go of her hands to hook his thumbs into her granny panties, tugging them down over her hips.

She's wet, so very wet, and ready, but he's not. Tossing them aside, he pushes her thighs apart, settling between them. Her stomach clenches beneath his lips, tensing as he skims a slick kiss over the soft skin, heading up instead of down.

"Jerk," McGee mutters, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

"Good things, Timothea, good things," he finally says, eyes tracing the curve of her breast. She's not wearing a bra, thank God, he's pretty sure he couldn't get it together to unfasten one. Half-naked, squirming, ready to go McGee means Tony's brain goes straight to 'fire bad, tree pretty'.

Her nipples are already hard, peaked, even before his mouth touches one. When he does, though, she cries out, legs tightening around him. McGee's a screamer. Tony _likes_ screamers and he takes his time with her breasts, lips and hands playing them until she's shaking, pushed to the edge, her voice strained and rough with wanting.

The first touch of his finger skimming the lips of her, tracing swollen, slick flesh, and she's coming apart. His name keens past her lips, her hands flailing out for the couch and purchase. She's utterly lost, paying no attention to him whatsoever, and he chuckles, pleased with himself.

"Atta girl," he murmurs, leaning over her. He presses his lips against her, skin hot, and she's taking off again, even before she can catch her breath. They are totally against all the rules, there's no comparison for them, and he doesn't give a flying fuck. There's only this, only them, and he doesn't want to share it with anybody.

He waits for her to catch her breath this time, grinning at her like an idiot. "See? Hands on research. _Totally_ worth it."

McGee smirks, grabbing at his jeans. "Not your hands I'm interested in, DiNozzo. That a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

"Oh, I'm not happy," says Tony, shucking out of his jeans, plucking a condom out of his pocket as he does, "I'm _blissed_."

"Not yet you aren't, dork," Thea teases, taking it from him, "but give me a minute and we'll see what I can do."

Tony bites his lip as she rolls it on, looking at the ceiling, picturing anything and everything that'll keep him from exploding. He finally settles on one of Ducky's more _colourful_ speeches, keeping it in his mind until McGee goes to her knees on the couch beside him.

She's still wearing his shirt, hanging open to reveal her body, flush from orgasm and Tony swallows hard.

"You -- " he reaches for her, pulling her onto his lap with him, "McGee -- "

Thea laughs, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. "Shut up, Tony. You'll hurt yourself."

"And we can't have that," Tony says, his hands resting on her hips. "Whatever would you do with all that time on your hands?"

With a snicker, she starts to move, rocking on him slow and firm. "Finish my book, investigate crimes, clear the most wanted list. I'm pretty sure I could think of something."She tips her head back, line of her throat damn near irresistible. "Maybe go to a con or two. I've been thinking of branching into sci fi."

"Do it," he says, pulling her closer, lips skimming her neck.

"Yeah?" McGee sighs.

"Mmhmm," he agrees. "I love it when you go geek."


End file.
